


guess who?

by rain_at_dawn



Category: SHINee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Ambiguous Supernatural Character, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Brief Allusions to Fictional Pagan Religion, Developing Relationship, Happy Ending, Hook-Up, M/M, One Night Stands, Past minor character death, References to Grieving, Sexual Content, Werewolves, Witchcraft, brief mention of past injury, brief mentions of drinking, dating app
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:40:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27998406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rain_at_dawn/pseuds/rain_at_dawn
Summary: Kibum is looking for a hook-up for the night, and he decides to browse a popular hook-up app where humans can look for supernatural sexual/romantic partners. He finds Taemin and they hook-up for the night. Afterwards, Kibum can't get him out of his mind, slowly forming a crush on what was supposed to be a one night stand.
Relationships: Kim Kibum | Key/Lee Taemin
Comments: 12
Kudos: 29
Collections: Taemythological Round One





	guess who?

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to the Taemythos mods for their hard work and commitment to organizing this fic fest. And thank you to the original fic prompter. I hope you enjoy it!

_sylph?_

After the rain, the birds begin to chirp. But not too soon after the chime of a notification from the app. There’s very little to distract Kibum from the DM he’s just received, unless he does feel like craning his neck to peer over his phone and into his werewolf neighbor’s backyard; and he would’ve been in luck because Minho is hanging out his laundry, sans shirt and self-consciousness.

In the woods beyond Kibum’s own backyard, where he reclines in a roomy, striped wood-and-canvas beach chair, are rays of late afternoon light that filter through the oaks and maples, earning a comparison to the face in the profile that appears on his screen when he swipes to accept the message.

_‘u free this Tuesday?’_

At least this one gets it; Kibum’s not down for anything serious. He’s new in town – just shy of a month since he’d moved into the sensible little house by the pond – and there hasn’t been much to occupy his time after the first week spent unpacking and sorting out his life for, hopefully, the next few years. After all, his grandmother had always said that places surrounded by forests were the best places for one to grow. It was the trees that set a good example, she’d declared in that no-nonsense tone of hers.

It had been eight months since she’d left the earth and Kibum likes to think she’s comfortable where she finally rests, underneath a magnificent poplar tree his grandfather had planted on their wedding day. The sounds of nature must be as soothing as he finds them now.

There’s the sound of a door closing; Kibum looks up in time to see Minho’s backyard empty and the door to his kitchen swinging shut. It’s just him and the birds, and the silken light that slants over his lawn. There are enough shadows for his phone screen to light up in contrast, for him to really take a look at the face attached to the name ‘Lee Taemin’.

Kibum won’t mince words; the face is unfairly attractive, the type one would except to see carved out of marble with the skill of a master artist who knew their way around the diamond jut of cheekbones and the sensuous undercurrent of skin beneath porcelain. It’s the type of face that doesn’t belong in an afternoon like this, with a petulant smirk that could make the calm explode.

But that’s hardly an issue. This app wasn’t designed around the quiet and awkward introductions tacked onto first dates at a nearby café. Kibum would’ve hardly guessed by the name: ‘Flutter’ of all things, something he would’ve attached to a saccharine meet-cute set-up for adolescents, until Minho had told him that the original working title was ‘Biter’. He’d known the developer since college.

Kibum doesn’t know anyone else in town, unless he counts the three songbirds who occasionally perch on his kitchen window when he’s cooking. They’d make excellent stand-ins for common wrens, were it not for the three eyes in each little skull that peered greedily whenever he took a pie out from the oven.

It was a sensible little house in an unusual little place his grandmother had left him. That and the inheritance dictated in her will was supposed to keep him comfortable for as long as he needed to figure out where he really wanted to head to in life. He’d thought he’d once known; whether it was surrounded by an ocean in Belize or Guam, or mountains in Argentina or Northern California, Kibum had thought he was made for greater challenges.

‘Comfortable’ was nice enough, but not where he wanted to be, as much he tried to respect an old woman’s last wish. He’d walked around the entirety of town with Minho one day, noting with growing concern as to how normal everything appeared (except for the marsh which Minho had quickly ushered him away from, muttering something about bridge trolls and stupid fucking riddles that were a pain to solve). Kibum had grown too accustomed to the ways of the non-humans, immortal or otherwise, corporeal or not, to truly fear them or at least, build a healthy level of wariness around them. His grandmother’s midnight rituals had proved to be enough of an inoculum against that.

What was the word she’d used to describe such folk? Not ‘harmless’, for sure. But not enough of a threat to hold sway over human insecurities. “One’s ego and id are enough to stir one’s own anxieties,” He recalls her saying with that grim little smile only she could’ve managed.

“You don’t have to worry about me,” He’d reassured her. “It’s the pneuma I’m protecting.”

The pneuma, the vital force, the creative nature of an individual. If there was anything Kibum ran on, which wasn’t caffeine, it was that. It had kept him occupied in the months after his grandmother’s passing and perhaps, in time, it would heal him as well.

In the meantime, he supposes he can seek inspiration from the most unlikely sources. Hooking up with an attractive – potentially dangerous – stranger had never made it to his bucket list, but Kibum can make room for anything.

He sends a short response to Lee Taemin’s message: _‘sure’_

The next few DMs don’t take long to materialize.

_‘ok’_

_‘u kno where the orgel is?’_

_‘we can meet up there’_

_‘I’ll send u a map’_

The Naver locations map instantaneously appears, so oddly mundane amidst the realm of possibilities available on an app that specifically stated that this wasn’t the hunting ground certain individuals were looking for in its terms and conditions. Not that that reassurance makes Kibum feel any semblance of invincibility.

He examines Taemin’s profile again, searching for a tell-tale sign. Aside from the ridiculous good looks, there’s nothing else Kibum can glean from his likes (‘music’, ‘gaming’) or preferences (‘open to anything’).

Kibum sighs and scrolls through his emoji library, before settling on a vague ‘thumbs up’ sign to send back to his future date.

* * *

_demon?_

The Orgel is a café which sits on a corner right at the end of a street lined with restaurants which appear to cater to a clientele that ranges from those with a sweet tooth to those who prefer to keep them bared. Kibum arrives early to scope out the place; he peers into The Orgel’s windows and notes the amount of shadowy figures that shift beyond his reflection in the glass. When he steps inside, he realizes that the café could fit any number of customers, whether that be scarce or legion, within the confines of its sparse length and width. Kibum knows magic when he senses it; his grandmother had instilled the value of knowledge as an inoculant against fear in him many years ago.

To the left of the entrance is a tall, narrow standing desk which must have been made for an awaiting host; as if on cue, a bat, hung upside down from the rafters above, unfolds its leathery wings and descends, shifting into a pale young woman with long dark hair with one swift motion.

“Welcome to The Orgel.” She states calmly, her soft voice so unlike the shrill screech Kibum expects. “First time?”

“Yeah. I’m meeting someone actually…”

“Do you have a reservation? Or would you like me to draw up a table for you?”

Kibum isn’t sure. He and Taemin hadn’t gone into much detail about what would transpire before the sex. Maybe a drink and a quick chat, to be safe?

“Um… I think a table would be good.”

The hostess nods once, then shifts back into her bat form to take flight across the length of the café. Something compels Kibum to follow her; the feeling is benign enough that he trusts it and ends up, indeed, being drawn to a table for two, where the hostess, back in human form, pulls out a chair for him. After he thanks her, she flits back to the podium and takes refuge in the rafters once again with her wings folded around her, lying in wait for the next customer.

There’s nothing else that stands out, aside from a laminated placard placed in a wooden holder at the center of the table, advertising a limited offer special drink (‘Chocolate Chip Trick’, Kibum mouths quietly to himself, torn between wariness and amusement). Nothing else distracts him from the dark clouds that shift above the town from where he can see them outside the window; from the looks of it, they can expect a decent-sized tempest tonight.

And then there’s certainly something tugging at the corner of his eye, someone that has been lying in wait too. For him.

Kibum starts in his seat. There’s a figure in black on the opposite side of the table, one with eyes that gleam in the dark. He unconsciously reaches for the vial of holy water in his pocket, a cautionary gift from Minho.

“That wouldn’t work on me anyway.” The figure speaks nonchalantly. “Wrong type of repellant.”

This doesn’t make Kibum feel any more at ease.

“You could’ve at least been more specific on your profile. I’ve every right to protect myself.”

Across from him, Lee Taemin nods a tad too enthusiastically in agreement, as if he was the one who’d felt threatened. “At least you won’t have to worry about too many vampires around this street. Too many restaurants and all that garlic, you know?”

“So you’re not a vampire?”

“I could’ve been lying about the garlic thing.”

Kibum stares at him, withholding the urge to slowly shake his head. At least Taemin was easy on the eyes, once adjusted to the lack of light in the café. In another time, Kibum wouldn’t have even glanced his way if Taemin had so much as passed him on the street. His hook-up is dressed shabbily in a hoodie and a pair of ratty jeans, both black. He looks harmless enough, but that’s not enough to dispel the sliver of anxiety that curls in the pit of Kibum’s stomach.

“Just so you know, my friend knows I’m here and if I were to up and vanish without a trace, he’d be on to you. Claws and all.”

Taemin nods, apparently willfully obtuse again. “You’re following the terms and conditions. Got it.”

“I’d hope that you are too.”

“Already have them memorized.”

“I’m just letting you know that you’d better not try anything… untoward.”

“ _You’re_ the one who agreed to give it a shot.” Taemin fires back with a pout that seems so unbecoming on a being of his kind. Whatever that is. “You can leave anytime. Do you want to?”

The curl of anxiety retreats further into his insides, leaving Kibum with something that burns a little. He looks back to the window for respite, taking in the view of the sky once again. There might be thunder rumbling outside of the café’s insulated structure; whatever magic held this place together also seemed to keep the noise out.

He turns back to Taemin again, to take in the soft plushness of his lips, wondering if they’d feel just as soft on his own. He knows just what type of heat lies beneath his skin, hidden behind layers of composure and a defensive nature. One day, he’ll learn how to ascend beyond such yearnings for distractions. Today wouldn’t be that day. Tonight certainly wasn’t.

“Lemme buy you a drink.” Kibum tries again. “Get to know you a little better.”

Taemin grimaces. “Wasn’t that what my profile was for?”

“I don’t know what drink you’d like. Surprise me.”

It’s a proposition Taemin seems to consider for a while, before signaling for a menu. An odd-eyed owl swoops in from a corner and drops one right in front of him on the table. He takes his time scanning the list of cocktails, lips pursed in concentration, before selecting, to Kibum’s relief, a fairly innocuous gin and tonic.

“Wouldn’t want this to take too long.” Taemin murmurs.

* * *

_incubus?_

They aren’t kids, so Kibum doesn’t think the puddles forming under the torrential rain would be of any interest to Taemin. Then again, a childhood memory of splashing about nearly-flooded streets in his old neighborhood is something he doesn’t want at the forefront of his mind while he’s well on his way to a one-night stand. So the impulse to say it out loud is pushed back down his throat and swallowed.

To get to the nearest motel, they have to walk down a block from The Orgel. Kibum finds the brief exercise quite freeing, after having been cooped up indoors, watching Taemin swallow the last drop of his gin. He’d had to contend with having nothing else to do except memorize the way Taemin’s lips formed around the monosyllables which made up his responses to Kibum’s questions.

Unlike The Orgel, the motel stands stark in its apparent normalcy. On the walkway towards their room, after retrieving the keycard Taemin had left with the receptionist for safe-keeping, that illusion is slightly diminished by the appearance of a tiny purple scorpion scuttling along the floor. A thrill runs down Kibum’s spine as Taemin presses closer against his back.

“Can’t stand bugs.” Taemin offers by way of explanation, the most words he’s spoken in a while. For a second, Kibum considers if it’s worth starting the debate to ascertain whether if a scorpion does in fact count as a bug, but drops it as soon as they reach the door to the room. His bare hands tremble slightly as he swipes the keycard and enters first.

It's an ordinary enough room with the usual type of bed and console, the sheets and pillow-cases the exact same shade of eggshell white as in the many other motels he’d visited before, usually not alone. He turns to face his present, the latest pretty face to be stroked and caressed in the dim light, and is greeted with that very mouth he’d spent much of the last hour contemplating.

There have been many pairs of lips, in many cities before this strange little town, but there’s never been a kiss like this. Taemin has a hold of his shirt-collar, tight enough to hold Kibum’s attention, loose enough that he can dredge up another one of Minho’s warnings from the rising rush of blood and hormones to his head.

_“You can always tell it’s an incubus when they hold back on the first attack. They like to hold out on their prey, suss them out if they’re worth it.”_

He should’ve asked Minho for more context, but if he’s already been caught, there’s still a chance that he can use this piece of information to his advantage. Taemin had given his word to trust him and Kibum would do so, with an open mind (and legs, if all went well). If he’s right about one thing, it’s that Taemin’s lips are very much as soft as they look. Kibum presses his tongue in further, through the seam of the other’s smile.

They settle against the door, into a familiar kind of rhythm and roar in Kibum’s blood that he’d forgotten he missed. Taemin is pliant and responsive, still beneath the insistent press of Kibum’s body but far from motionless. Outside, the sky groans and the clouds shed their weight, and it seems to exist on a plane both beyond and within Kibum.

His mouth moves somewhat reluctantly away from Taemin’s, only for it to trace a path down his chin, then his neck. A low mewl tells him the change in direction is appreciated; nevertheless, Kibum holds a thumb to Taemin’s mouth to keep it occupied. There’s a graze of teeth against the tip and it sends a spike of adrenalin right through him, landing way down below.

“You like that?” Taemin asks as he shifts his thigh to brush against the tent in Kibum’s jeans. That question, poised so surely, forms the crux of what Kibum imagines playing out on the bed that awaits them. He’d pay Taemin for this, just to hear the answer to that question, uttered with as much sweet-coated jocosity as could be while pinned to a flat surface. Kibum raises his eyes to meet Taemin’s smirk and thinks that there’s hardly a light in the world that could compare to the flush of his skin.

To the bed it is then; Kibum gives thanks to the hours of hauling in boxes into his house that have prepared him for sweeping this strange, beautiful imp right off his feet and into his arms. He makes sure that Taemin lands softly on the mattress, the one courtesy he’ll grant before crawling over him, squeezing right between his spread legs.

The pink tip of Taemin’s tongue darts out, beckoning Kibum. The next kiss devolves into delicate bites and nips, and if Kibum could, he’d devour him whole, ravish him thoroughly. What would be the opposite of an incubus attack, where one wouldn’t know the difference between predator and prey? He’d make sure the lissome creature beneath him would come to no harm.

“Kibum,” His name rises from Taemin’s lips, spoken from a tongue a saint would envy. “… Do me.”

Kibum would. He wastes no time undressing Taemin, them himself, peeling off each article of clothing as if it were in flames. The skin beneath Taemin’s hoodie is smooth and hairless, perfection for human eyes. Kibum has lost all wherewithal for critical thinking; he lets himself loose, feasting upon the body arched under him.

He moves inside Taemin with all the propulsion of a compass needle, reaching towards the north that forms the trail of Taemin’s breathy moans. If he could’ve, Kibum would have had the world slow down at that very moment, so that he’d never reach the end of wherever that trail lay, not while the journey had so much to offer.

Taemin’s hand is on him, stroking him, taking him over the edge, drowning Kibum in flames.

* * *

_vampire?_

“There’s been _tons_ of spiders leaving the garden, I swear.” Kibum mutters to himself, since Minho’s definitely too busy checking him for wounds the day after his hook-up. “They were supposed to stick around to eat the aphids and now they’ve abandoned me.”

“Do your grandma’s notes say anything?” Minho replies without missing a beat. “Does anything hurt? Any mysterious aches and pains?”

“I told you, I’m fine! Nothing happened outside of what was supposed to.”

“Did he have any, you know,” There’s an awkward pause as Minho vaguely gesticulates in place of having to actually articulate. “Defining characteristics… you know…”

“You’re allowed to say ‘genitals’, Minho. Or ‘abnormally sized junk’. Dicks too. I’m sure you’ve seen plenty yourself during those pack-run orgies or whatever you get up to every month.”

Minho grunts in irritation, but doesn’t let up on his examination of Kibum. Vampires and other bloodsuckers didn’t always leave behind obvious bite marks on their victims. Some of them liked to draw out their feeding, night after night, until their oblivious prey was not long for the world.

“You sure you’re not feeling too tired? Any loss of energy?”

Kibum sighs. He’d questioned himself after leaving Taemin asleep in the motel room, with a note thanking him. No mention of the mind-blowing sex or promise to meet up again, just a ‘thank you’ scrawled on a piece of paper torn off a notepad that lay in one of the bedside drawers. Kibum had stepped out into the night and as he’d made the lonely walk home, he realized that he’d never felt so elated in a long while.

“I’m fine.” He replies, though Minho doesn’t look convinced. He wonders if his expression has betrayed the feelings swirling inside his chest, rattling through his ribs with each breath he takes. “Isn’t there an upcoming full moon for you to worry about instead?”

Minho sniggers, but releases him. “I can sniff out a lie, you know.”

“Probably better than you do with ‘irritation’. Or ‘exasperation’. The distinct odor of ‘mind your own business’?”

The last bit has Minho taking a step back and folding his arms with a frown, which even Kibum has to admit to himself is a sign that he’s touched the wrong nerve.

He mutters, “Sorry,” and means it. Minho’s just watching out for him, hardly what Kibum’s owed after barely a few weeks into their friendship.

“Just… just allow me some leeway on this. Whatever it is, however it turns out, it’s mine to explore on my own terms. But thanks for looking out for me anyway.”

Even though Kibum means every word, he wonders if it’s enough. Even when Minho shrugs it off with an “All right”, still with that concerned stare fixed on him, Kibum wonders if he’s really worth such attachment, if he’s allowed this skinny trickle of joy that ripples through him like a secret incantation. Eventually, they both look away to the whispering expanse of trees that lies beyond the field bordering their backyards, perhaps as if it could chime in its own voice.

When he can’t stand the silence any longer, Kibum breaks it with a question: “What’s really out there? What else is there to be afraid of?”

“Rumor has it that a family of bloodsuckers hangs around there, waiting to pounce on some deer or lost pet dog.” Minho’s words sound measured and collected to Kibum’s ears, a clear warning. “There’s also a pagan temple somewhere, dedicated to the moon cycle.”

“You ever been there? That far inside?”

“I’ve been to that temple once, when I was a pup.”

“Saw any moon rabbits prancing around?”

“Nah. Just a couple of big mirrors and candles scattered everywhere. And the moonbeams.”

Straight to the point as expected and not a touch of interesting detail to keep Kibum’s imagination from drifting further beyond.

“Does anyone pray there?”

“I guess. You know, rituals and stuff. Never taken part in any.”

Kibum sighs and slips his phone out from his back pocket. In a town like this, he might as well be mistaken for the crazy one, with how much he longed for something beyond it. Or someone. Taemin hasn’t even messaged him, which was as good a hint as any. It’s a dark Saturday, perfect for a long round of moping, even if Kibum would rather drive a stake through his own heart than let that show on his face.

Then the screen lights up.

_‘hey’_

Kibum wills himself not to answer right away; that would be revealing too much and Taemin hasn’t played fair on that account. It’s the same principle by which he wouldn’t tell someone he loved them back, not when he couldn’t tell if they were worth it. If Kibum had to bring anyone his love, they would have to earn it.

But in the meantime, he could offer something less easy to break: his willing body.

He types _‘what’_ and sends it off without a blink. He counts two seconds and an exhale when Taemin’s reply appears: _‘you free this week?’_

_‘maybe’_

_‘maybe u’d come by orgel later?’_

_‘maybe’_

Kibum knows it’s a lie; he fully intends to clear up some free time on his schedule. He would go no less prepared than he’d been the first time to meet the mystery monster. He has to admit, it’s an enticing prospect to have someone to play with, even if it was just a guessing game, no more, no less.

Right across from him, Minho glances at his face and scowls. It’s like he can smell the anticipation that pours out from Kibum. Kibum just flicks it off with a sidelong look of his own that’s measured past Minho’s head, directed at the daylight still surrounding them.

 _“C’mon,”_ he dares Taemin quietly. _“I’m waiting.”_

There are no birds idling around, let alone bats. Of course there wasn’t; in due time, Kibum figured that he would find out why.

 _‘you free in the evening?’_ he texts back to Taemin.

* * *

_siren?_

“You have great timing! Jonghyun rarely performs like this in public.” Taemin hums contentedly over a tall glass mug of coffee with cinnamon and whipped cream, a dainty-looking concoction that ought to seem out of place in The Orgel. But the magic is as strong as it’s been since Kibum’s last visit; all it does is stretch and accommodate for anything and anyone.

On the table to their left, Kibum glimpses the glittering scales of the long snake that had crawled over his foot a few short minutes ago, now curling into the tattooed skin of its owner, blending seamlessly into the inked tapestry etched into her flesh. On a stage a few feet in front of their table, a sight which he hadn’t chanced across previously, is a man with silver hair, almost golden skin and eyes that shimmered somewhere in-between. This was Jonghyun and somehow, Taemin doesn’t seem enthralled enough.

Kibum would call Jonghyun a singer, if such a word didn’t absolutely pale in comparison to what sort of sound rose from the centre of the tiny platform on which he was stood. This was supposed to be a melancholy little ballad, if he had to judge by the notes of the piano being played from a dark corner of the room, but the sound that swells from Jonghyun’s chest and throat isn’t mournful at all. It’s mourning and sorrow of a kind certainly, but fuller than what the words of the song convey.

It feels like a release. An escape.

“He’s amazing.” Taemin declares, with cream lining his upper lip. “Too bad he hardly ever leaves that temple.”

“Which one?”

“The old moon temple. Only comes alive at night.”

This sparks a recollection: Minho had mentioned a temple too. Mirrors and candles and whatnot.

“The one with the moonbeams?” Kibum asks, holding back the urge to reach across the table and wipe Taemin’s lip clean with his thumb. Or tongue.

Taemin nods sagely. “Yeah. You’re looking at one over there.”

He nods his head in the stage’s direction, where Jonghyun pours his heart out, as no human could, as Kibum had come to realize. Just another thing that felt easier to accept in a town like this.

“Hm. Interesting. Where do you think he goes after he’s done here?”

Taemin picks up the mug and lifts it to his lips, tilting it so that he can swallow the last dregs before answering, “Back to the temple, duh.”

_Little shit._

“I mean, where else would he go? The moon shines everywhere, I’d think he’d have at least a couple hundred other places to be.”

“Maybe he likes it here.” Taemin shrugs. “Jonghyun’s always been kind of a rebel like that. You’ll sometimes find him out and about even when it’s a complete black-out. Or during a storm. He likes the rain.”

“Oh? He’s told you that?”

“Yeah. We talk sometimes, when he feels like it. Just… you know, shooting the shit. He doesn’t give away much.”

“I’d say the same about you.”

Their eyes meet; Kibum has been looking at him all this time and it’s the first time Taemin’s noticed. In the flickering blue candlelight, his stare seems electric and Kibum ventures to touch his hand, he wonders if it would singe his skin.

“It’s not exactly a bad thing. You’ve kept me guessing since we last met up. There’s something weird and familiar about you. I like it.”

Taemin’s lip curls. “Oh?”

“Yeah. It’s like I keep remembering I’ve forgotten something. And it’s right here in front of me, and still out of my reach.” Kibum has kept his gaze fixed on him, testing it for a reaction.

Around them, a flutter of applause rises from the scattered crowd as Jonghyun signals the end of his performance. In the seat across from him, Taemin cocks his head to the side, contemplative. “How long would it take you to remember?” he finally asks.

“I was hoping I would by the end of this night.”

Taemin smiles and reaches out to take Kibum’s hand in his. His fingers are shorter, more sinewy that Kibum’s, with blunt nails. Almost childlike. But when they clasp around his, they’re an odd fit.

They go back to the same motel, apparently the only one in town. The room they enter is almost identical to the one they’d used on their first night, except situated down a different hallway. Kibum thinks of Seoul, San Francisco, Shanghai, Santiago, amongst the many places he’s been to. And yet, he’s never seen stars as bright as the ones lit up in Taemin’s eyes.

Once they undress, Kibum reaches out to cup his face.

“What’d it feel like when you fell?”

“I’m not from Heaven, sorry to disappoint you.”

“I know. But you’re unlike anyone I’ve ever met here, at least in the parts I’ve known. Where’d you crawl out from?”

The answer comes out in a huff, not helped by the hand Kibum uses to pump him. “Same place as you did. Now hurry up and fuck me.”

So much for pillow talk.

Taemin groans when he presses a finger inside him; he feels hot around Kibum, the ring of muscle tight around him. His hair fans out on the pillow, gold strands that make Kibum wonder if and why would an angel take the form of a mortal man. When he bends down to kiss Taemin, his mouth is received eagerly and impatiently. Kibum offers thanks to an unknown deity – he settles for a poster of Kwon Boa that used to hang on the wall of his teenage bedroom, above a shrine made up of albums and merch – for such a moment.

_Long live the night and its stars, long live the day and its bards._

Another one of his grandmother’s favorite sayinhs; but he puts it out of his mind as soon as Taemin wraps his arms around him, spreading out the rest of his body as if it were a cradle for Kibum to lay himself in and rest.

* * *

_demigod?_

All towns and people contain their own secret histories. Kibum knows he isn’t any different, so he doesn’t begrudge a mystery when he senses one. But a part of him itches for more, to be allowed in on it, to be part of the hidden message in the tapestry, to be as intricately – intimately – entwined in something larger than he’d dreamt of.

For a time, he’d had an opportunity to be part of just that. Two days after his sixth birthday and ten after the day he’d somehow managed to levitate himself into the very top of the pear tree that had stood in his grandparents’ garden, his grandmother had enrolled him in a special type of school for children like him.

 _“Like us.”_ She’d corrected him, her eyes twinkling through the creases in her face made by her broad grin.

His memories of that place are fuzzy now. He remembers the piles of cotton balls placed in front of them on their desks which they were supposed to make float without using anything but their minds and he remembers how one of the teachers had made one of the balls bounce off the walls, twirl and twist around in motions that reminded him of rollercoaster cars, and then finally grow a pair of twiggy legs and tap dance on the floor.

_“You’ll learn how to do it one day.”_

Kibum had stopped waiting for that day; a part of him hadn’t stopped wishing for it.

Once the levitating – of inanimate objects and otherwise – was dubbed ‘inappropriate’ by his mother, it simply ceased to be, along with the rest of Kibum that had felt extraordinary for a while. Here was a mystery he’d tried to resolve by traveling to every end of the earth he could afford as a working adult and here he was now, no closer to any answers. The only good magic that existed were the words in fairytales, his mother had kept assuring him. He wasn’t missing out on anything.

But this is a different town that’s beginning to feel more and more familiar to him with each passing day. While out apple-picking with Minho, Kibum had wiped the sweat off his brow and peered over at the looming forest, an eerie backdrop for the innocent little orchard they’d spent much of the afternoon in. An idea had taken root in his head.

As soon as the violet-blue sky beckons at twilight, Kibum heads out of his house, dressed in a fleece-lined jacket and thick socks beneath his boots as protection from the cold, and armed with a flashlight against the encroaching darkness. Around his neck is Minho’s vial of holy water, strung on a silver chain; wards against thirsty vampires and rabid werewolves if he should have the misfortune to stumble across them.

To his own amusement, Kibum doesn’t feel afraid. Not right now anyway. A memory has floated into his mind, one that contains his grandmother’s wry smirk: _“All what those nightcrawlers are, are big little bullies.”_

Despite the chill, he smiles to himself.

He follows the narrow footpath Minho had pointed out to him earlier. It’s the one that will take him to the moon temple, from which he seeks no answers, only to sate his curiosity. As he’d explained to a skeptical Minho, it was just ‘a traveler’s instinct’.

While he walks, Kibum keeps track of time on his wristwatch. At intervals of roughly ten or more minutes, he spots a hand-painted sign nailed to one of the nearby trees. All they display are luminescent white arrows, assuring him of the direction he was going in. There is no dread gnawing a hole through the pit of his stomach, he realizes. The only thing that alights on him from the shadows is a quiet sense of calm.

The path eventually opens into a clearing. In the midst of it stands a high-walled domed structure, painted in the same glowing shade of white as the arrows that had led him here. There are no gates or barriers surrounding the temple, nor is there grass. The ground around it is paved with slabs of cloudy grey granite that gleam through the night. A series of steps lead up to the temple’s entrance at which a figure stands, sweeping away with a long-handled spindly broom.

As Kibum draws closer to the steps, he catches the sound of low humming. Again, he peers harder at the figure, overcome with familiarity from the tune that escapes their pursed lips in what must be a sweet and deep voice in speech or song.

The figure looks down at him and smiles. It’s a smile that doesn’t reveal much, but emanates a type of radiance that must match the music only they can hear. Kibum takes note of the wrinkles creasing the corners of their eyes, the bump on the tip of their nose and the loose strands of auburn hair tucked behind their ears.

“Welcome,” they softly announce. “Rest well and enjoy your stay.”

Kibum hasn’t intended to stay long, but he’s now compelled to. As the person moves away, Kibum walks up the steps. By the time he gets to the top, they’ve already moved to the other end of the foyer, still humming that achingly familiar song.

The foyer opens to a larger room lined with mirrors and marble columns. There aren’t any lights that Kibum can see, but the room is aglow nonetheless. He glances up to find that the domed ceiling opens up at the peak to reveal the night sky, carpeted with constellations and of course, the moon itself. A breeze blows in from the entrance behind it and the chime of distance bells falls upon the silence. Wind charms, probably. Befitting a temple, of course.

Kibum doesn’t consider himself the least bit religious, but he approaches the middle of the room to stand right beneath the open dome, clasp his hands together, and makes a wish.

* * *

_nymph?_

“Oh, you met Jinki-ssi?”

“That’s who they were?”

“Yeah.”

Kibum is stretched out next to Taemin on a bed in the same motel. It rains outside while they take a break in-between fucks; Taemin has allowed him to take a few pictures of him on his phone, which Kibum now considers a godsend. None of them will ever need a filter, what with the way Taemin looks on a post-coital high, blissed out and smiling. Kibum saves them to a special private folder, resolving never to delete them.

“Tell me more about this Jinki person.” Kibum mutters distractedly while zooming in on Taemin’s kiss-swollen lips. “Does he work at the temple?”

“He was born into it. Generations before him, y’know? His father and then his father before him and so on. Family thing.”

“Never could understand those.”

“The work? Or the family thing?”

Maybe it’s the sex that’s made him loose with words, but Kibum sees no harm in elaborating: “The family thing. The thing that keeps him there, presumably.”

Taemin moves a limb; the shadows cast by the lamp in the room dance over his skin, lending him an air of invulnerability. “He seems to like it. Always singing like that.”

Kibum suddenly stops thumbing his phone screen. Perhaps it was the odd sequence of events that began and ended with him taking Taemin to bed again and again, but something has just slid into place, cleanly as a key undoes a lock.

“That song. He was humming Jonghyun’s song. No wonder it sounded familiar.”

All Taemin does is smile slowly, like he was giving Kibum a reward. It spreads nice and plentiful over his face, taking its sweet time. Just like that, things keep opening up for Kibum, whether he was ready or not for what lay beyond.

He moves his hand off his phone to touch Taemin’s cheek, then caress it, enjoying the smooth unmarked feel of it. He should kiss him there sometime, bite him too. The skin there is cool to touch, not even the hot flush of exertion coloring it. Taemin leans into his stroking, closing his eyes and humming that very song stuck in his head.

“You should sing for me. I can’t remember the words.”

“I can’t.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

This elicits a giggle; it rumbles through Taemin’s chest, a little husky. It’s the most ordinary thing that’s struck Kibum about him. He’d love to hear more of it.

“I can’t sing, Kibum.”

“Who’s judging? I’ve been told that same thing by everyone I’ve gone karaoke-ing with.”

“I’m tone-deaf. Everyone says so.”

“Hm, maybe it’s true.” Kibum pinches him gently. “But that doesn’t matter. We’d only be having fun. I’m not expecting you to be a superstar.”

“Then what do you expect?”

The safest answer would be ‘the unexpected’. Kibum had tried to move so carefully around him, anticipating broken skin and drawn blood. Instead, he couldn’t even count a hickey on his neck. He wasn’t disappointed; just curious for more. That scared him.

“I expect that you’ll be free on Friday.” He replies instead. The glint in Taemin’s eyes isn’t something he can immediately decipher; not cold at all, but not the spark of lust in anticipation of future plans beneath these very sheets.

Kibum knows he’s never been in love before, so it’s best that he walks into this with his own eyes open and his heart guarded. Taemin could have as much of his body that he trusted him with and the rest would follow. If either of them were that lucky.

“I might visit the temple too, now that you mention it.” Taemin’s head sinks back onto the pillow; his eyes move up from Kibum’s face to the ceiling. “I haven’t looked at the stars lately. And it’ll be nice to see Jonghyun again.”

“You’d pick a moonbeam over me?”

Kibum’s only joking, though he understands the appeal. Jonghyun was moonlight personified in the most literal sense of the word while Kibum was flesh and blood and tongue and teeth and mortal to the core and convenient. He prods Taemin further, digging his thumbs into the bony corners of his hips: “I mean, I’d get it if you want to ditch me. Just don’t wake me up the morning after to say goodbye. I’m not a morning person.”

The body next to him shifts, responding to his touch. “What if I don’t wanna wake up either?”

“You’d have to. Don’t you have a god of your own to run around and worship? You know so much more about this place than I do. Its secrets are yours, not mine.”

“You can be part of it too. Give it a chance.”

Outside, the wind picks up. Kibum pictures everything, from the leaves being blown up the street to the trees bending to nature’s will. Then he closes his eyes and shifts his focus to Taemin’s neck, kissing down the vein which pulses with life.

Perhaps he’d be okay with just being friends; one more, apart from Minho, wouldn’t hurt. A few added benefits thrown into the mix made it all the more delicious. He could, perhaps, come to love Taemin like these, in morsels served hot and sweet on lonely nights. He would have lost nothing in getting here and left behind nothing but the stains on the sheets. On such an unpredictable road, walking was always better than falling.

He moves down to Taemin’s chest and presses his ear to his heart. Its beat is loud, so loud that it drowns out the storm. He would stay for a few hours and give what he could afford. He’d serve it sweetly before taking his leave. He cared enough about Taemin by now to at least bring this much to the table. Kibum was painfully ordinary in every sense of the word, but if Taemin didn’t mind that part of him, he would share that much.

The rain pours on until all of a sudden, lightning strikes.

* * *

_halfling?_

Kibum knows what it’s like to have something sink its teeth into his heart; years ago, the moment his curiosity became too insatiable for late night walks through the city, he would start planning his next trip abroad. The further away, the better, anything to keep the caged creature in his chest singing instead of howling.

He’d consider the strange marriage of his insomnia to his restlessness over as soon as he figured out a way to sleep throughout the night. But the night that descends over such a town as this is one to be marveled over. The moon, so full and near, shone as bright as the sun sometimes and Kibum would be amazed at the way the light turned his bronze doorknob silver. Night seems to beckon to him here, instead of taunting him.

No midnight stroll through a nearby park would satisfy him here. It was back to the moon temple again, where the attendant Jinki greets him with that same mysterious smile.

“Good to see you again. Rest well and enjoy your stay.”

Kibum can only nod.

Once again, he finds himself drawn to the carpet of stars above him as he stands beneath the dome. He wonders if it were the same during a storm. If not, then what? Where else did heavenly bodies have to go except all the more further away from the rest of them?

A movement from one of the darker corners on the ground snags the corner of his eye. Kibum turns to properly look for it; to his surprise, he recognizes Jonghyun’s silver hair.

And then he was gone again. This isn’t as surprising because what on earth could contain a moonbeam, despite what Taemin had said?

Back to the night sky again. Kibum had never learnt how to tell which constellation was which, a skill he’d never given much weight to until this moment. It’s not so much answers that he seeks now, than a good story. Stories – the really wonderful ones – had a knack for helping him feel less alone. In a place where there weren’t many characters he could relate to, he really needed a reminder.

He watches and waits, without knowing what for. Eventually, it tires him and he decides to take his leave. Jinki is at the entrance, sweeping away whatever imaginary moondust must have gathered within the brief span of time since Kibum’s arrival.

“What keeps you around anyway?” Kibum asks him, not expecting anything concrete in return. “I’d get really lonely here, if I were you.”

Jinki’s smile stretches a little and there’s a twinkle in his eyes, unless Kibum’s imagining it. “Oh, I’m anything but alone.”

Again, Kibum can only nod.

On the edge of the temple grounds, he feels compelled to look behind him. In the short distance, Jinki is sweeping away, humming a familiar song. Kibum doesn’t need to recall the words; they’re being sung by Jonghyun instead, as he leans against a column and watches Jinki with a smile of his own.

The walk back home feels longer somehow; Kibum can feel the exhaustion seeping into his bones with each step. Once he leaves the forest and makes his way to the house that now belongs to him, he feels more out of place than ever. The monster gnawing at his heart takes up the whole of his chest and beats against his ribs.

In his kitchen, he slumps at the table and lets his head sink into his hands. He tries to draw upon his very first memories, the very old ones speckled in ivory sunlight and faded colors from childhood photographs, just to feel like he meant something to himself, if not to the world around him. He tries to recall the pear tree, the shapes of its fruit and how it smelt. He imagines what it must have felt like to fly.

The world around him is painfully still; the cutlery in the drawers and the dishes in the cabinets are perfectly immobile. Not even the specks of dust on the windowsill rise to his mental commands. The cotton balls from his first day at the school for those like him feel so much heavier in his head than they must have been back then.

Eventually, the only thing that rises is the sob that escapes his throat. It’s a hollow kind of release. It stifles the monster’s wail, but doesn’t kill it. The tears that fall are as heavy as concrete from the weight they carry.

When the end is nowhere in sight, he pulls out his phone and texts the first name that comes to mind.

_‘hey’_

It’s too much to expect Taemin to reply at such an early hour. Kibum steels himself for a long wait; that is, for if he even responds at all. Taemin might have better things – or partners – to do, than to wait around for someone like Kibum. Even so, he can’t help but hope he’ll reply soon; at this time, there aren’t even insects to swat away at this time.

The replies do come.

 _‘hey’_ , Taemin begins. _‘did you miss me’_

Kibum smiles through his tears. He’s just grasping at straws – anything to make him feel better – but it feels good to smile. If only his grandmother could seem him now. She’d chuckle over how pathetic he was.

_‘yeah, i miss you’_

_‘6v6’_

_‘the fuck does that mean’_

_‘hehe’_

_‘don’t play’_

Kibum means it. He wants it to matter to someone else aside from himself and he’d decided on Taemin. That counts for a lot in his book.

He types, _‘when r u free’_

This time, the response takes a few minutes. Each second crawls under Kibum’s skin and shoots right into his head.

 _‘@ orgel tonite’,_ Taemin answers.

And that’s where Kibum finds himself again later, long after the tears have dried. Taemin waits for him outside at the entrance, his face unworried and his mouth set. When Kibum kisses him, his lips part as easily as ever.

* * *

_human?_

Taemin’s name is dynamite in Kibum’s mouth as he moans over it in release. He’s had him on his back and now his knees, with Taemin gripping the headboard of the bed while he thrust relentlessly into him. A brief flash of an image of him in Kibum’s own bed in his own house sends his head spinning. He could have his cake and eat it, keep Taemin warm and cozy underneath his nice sheets until morning when he’d have a homemade breakfast readily waiting for him.

A dangerous idea.

His grip on Taemin’s hips loosens as they both come down from their high. The sweat on Kibum’s skin cools while Taemin pulls away from him and flops over on his side, letting out a satisfied grunt. Kibum can only breathe now, taking him in.

Taemin’s hair is tousled and his skin dewy with perspiration. If he could do him justice, Kibum would paint him and hang him up in an art museum somewhere, someplace famous. Maybe the Louvre. Or Versailles. Nothing less than a palace would do.

“That was fucking amazing.” Taemin breathes. “You must have been out of your mind.”

His smile slips when he takes in Kibum’s expression. “Sorry for saying that.”

“No, you’re right. This isn’t like me.”

Kibum isn’t any closer to finding out what is either. He’d wanted to take his mind off his failings by drowning his senses in Taemin’s body, his perfect face, his soft lips, his beautiful pliable limbs. He’d soundlessly begged for – and received – each kiss, drenched in the kind of honeyed sweetness he imagined a pity fuck would have. Taemin deserves far better than him.

“It was still fucking amazing. I mean it, Kibum.” A hand reaches to clasp his, fingers entwined like that one time at The Orgel. “Didn’t you feel how the bed moved?”

He snorts. “I’d imagine. Hopefully next door isn’t occupied.”

“It levitated. Right off the floor.”

A shudder runs through Kibum at the mention of the word. “Sure it did.”

“I’m not joking. It’s the first time it’s ever happened during… yeah…” Taemin’s smile turns shy. A lump rises in Kibum’s throat.

“That can’t have been me. I…”

“It was probably a bit of both of us. Sometimes I make things fly around the room when I’m overthinking. Or not thinking at all. It’s kind of instinct in most of us.”

“Us?” Kibum chokes out. _People like us._ “So you’re…”

“Just like you, yeah.”

It doesn’t make sense to Kibum the way he wants it to; a few hours at an attempt could hardly make up for years of neglecting his abilities. Now that it had sprung up, he’s not sure how to explain it to Taemin. Or if he should try at all.

“Kibum?” The little hand draws him nearer and another hand reaches to stroke his cheek, mirroring what he’d done to Taemin the last night they’d met. “Is anything wrong?”

“I was six years old the last time I levitated myself.”

There’s not a hint of judgement in Taemin’s eyes. Kibum takes it as a sign to continue; he swallows, exhales and tells him. Finally.

“My grandmother was a witch. But my mother wasn’t. It must’ve skipped a generation because I had it in me. When I was six, I was playing outside in my grandparents’ garden and then I was up floating up on top of the pear tree. When my grandmother had to come and get me down, I thought I was in trouble. But I wasn’t. She was proud of me. Said I was special. Just like her.

“I really didn’t know what a big word that was, back then. But if it meant that I was just like her, then I was happy. She even enrolled me in some magic pre-school, so I could learn more about myself. And people like me.”

The words dry up here. Whatever leap of joy he’d felt plummets in his chest. The pain of her passing trickles in again; his face heats up and his eyes well up with tears. He should get dressed and get out of here; he hadn’t come here to have his heart torn out all over again. Taemin certainly hadn’t.

Then he feels his hand being squeezed; Taemin’s still here.

“You were happy. And then what?”

“I was at home, playing. I must have been careless with my magic because I remember sending this hanging flowerpot ricocheting off the wall and then onto my head.”

Taemin’s gaze shifts to the patch of bare skin on his eyebrow. When he places a fingertip to brush against it, Kibum doesn’t flinch.

“I remember the blood. The pain. The way my mother couldn’t seem to stop screaming. Later on, I found that I’d almost gone blind in that eye. To be honest, that would’ve been a small price to pay for not having to see her yell at my grandmother like that. Something about wanting to raise me the ‘normal way’, without all that ‘seamy magic nonsense’ she’d had to grow up with.”

“What happened then?”

“They took me out of magic school and I went back to the same one as the other kids in my neighborhood. If everyone wanted me to be normal, then I didn’t have much of a say in it.”

There were many more things: the lasting feeling of otherness that persisted for the rest of his life, knowing that he’d never quite fit in amongst mundane daily living now that he’d had a fleeting taste of the extraordinary, the resentment that grew inside him (for his mother, for his grandmother and most of all, himself, for a part of him he’d lost control over).

For as far as he traveled to escape all of these, he’d never found it in himself to answer his own question. When he meets Taemin’s eyes, he’s not sure if he’s any closer.

But at least he’s not alone.

* * *

_witch_

He says that word to himself in the peace of the home he’s created. “Witch.”

There are no bad luck charms attached to it. Neither are broomsticks, cauldrons and black cats, as Taemin had assured him. “I keep dogs instead of Familiars. Less annoying.”

_“Witch.”_

It takes less time to settle in him, each time he recites it. Soon, there’d be no shame in admitting it either. In time, he wouldn’t even think twice about it.

He hasn’t been out to the moon temple in a while, not while he’s been busy with Taemin on most nights. They didn’t just stick to sex anymore; there were movies to watch (all horror, to Kibum’s dismay) and plenty of other café-cum-bars to hit (though The Orgel is still a favorite haunt). Not even on the blackest night has Kibum been struck with insomnia since the one on which he’d poured his heart out to Lee Taemin, a witch just like him.

Taemin can make objects heavier than cotton balls fly off the shelves with a flick of his lashes and then bring them back down without as much as scratch. He can keep himself and Kibum warm with a soothing charm that had been passed down from his grandparents. When Taemin dances to his own choreography in the home-studio he’d built in his basement, it’s like he glides through air.

He swears the last part isn’t magic; Kibum believes him.

Kibum can still barely flick a cotton-swab in Taemin’s direction whenever he teases him, but at least that’s a start. There are many things he could learn from Taemin and in return, Kibum will teach him something new each day.

Perhaps they can start with how to boil an egg. With or without magic, Taemin’s useless in the kitchen. Tucked inside Kibum’s bed, still fast asleep in the golden light of morning, he looks like he’d been cast out of Eden last night instead of thrown onto the mattress to be pinned down by Kibum. Now that _that’s_ all been done with, Kibum can see him for who he really is. He thinks he can get used to the sight.

As if he senses him, Taemin lifts a bleary eye open. “You shouldn’t look at me that way.”

“Why not?”

“You look like you could bite.”

Kibum chuckles. “I could’ve said the same about you the first time I swiped on your profile.”

“I could bite. If you want me to.”

“Save it for breakfast.”

The apples Kibum had picked with Minho had been cut up, boiled in water with sugar, lemon juice and cinnamon, then ladled into large jars to transform into marmalade. Kibum was proud of himself; no magic required there. He would make cinnamon French toast next, if Taemin would bother getting his lazy ass up.

“I’m not serving you breakfast in bed.” He pokes Taemin’s cheek for emphasis. “Get up and get dressed.”

Taemin huffs, but obeys. He throws off the blanket and reaches for his discarded clothes. Kibum can’t help but indulge himself further; the first time he’d laid eyes on Taemin, he’d never imagined that such striking perfection could exist in human form. At least he’d been partially correct.

He must have been staring for a while; Taemin turns to him while in the midst of pulling on his jeans, cheeky smile already in place. “What’re you staring at?”

“At those stains. I’m going to have to give you a lesson in laundry as well. Can’t have you looking like you rolled in the hay when my friend comes over to sniff at you.”

“Is he a dog?”

“A werewolf actually. He lives next door.”

“Hm.” The jeans slide up over Taemin’s thighs and are zipped up into place. “Wouldn’t make a difference. Everyone likes how I smell. They say it’s like baby powder.”

“That’s the least sexy thing I’ve ever heard. Don’t mention it the next time we’re fucking.”

Remembering the toast, he reluctantly tears his eyes away and heads back into the kitchen. Outside, his backyard is empty. He could get Minho to help him chop up some wood for a bonfire later; he needed an excuse to cuddle up with Taemin. They could light up some sparklers or even roman candles, just for the fun of it.

Or they could all go to the moon temple later. Kibum thinks he ought to give thanks for his wish being granted: to not feel so alone anymore. It had taken long enough to get to this point – and many thousands of miles along the way – but he could let go of some of the regrets now. He just might call his mother and tell her he’s doing fine. He might tell his grandmother too, but then again, she might already have felt it herself from the corner of his heart she occupies forever.

He turns on the stove, places a pan on the burner and spoons a few generous dollops of butter right in the middle of it. The bread slice goes in next, to be coated in the whisked egg yolk and cream. A door creaks on its hinges and soon, there are footsteps echoing down the hallway

“Breakfast…” Taemin drawls as he saunters in, only to wrap his arms around Kibum’s waist as he stands before the stove. “Feed me.”

Kibum reaches for the long-handled spoon stuck in the apple marmalade jar, digs in as deep as he can go and then holds it up to Taemin’s lips. The sweet morsel disappears quickly and the pleased sound Taemin makes from the back of his throat leaves a pleasant ring in Kibum’s ear. He hands him the spoon, telling him to help himself.

Taemin only hums good-naturedly in response and Kibum can’t help falling a little bit in love again. After all, this was still how he intended to go about it: giving himself away bit by bit. Except with Taemin, the pieces just keep getting bigger each time.

It’s a risk Kibum thinks might be worth taking.


End file.
